The Return
by PeppermintTwister
Summary: Three years after Sherlocks' presumed death, John finds a familiar figure on his doorstep, but what Sherlock finds inside is even more surprising. T for language and themes. Warning: Mentions attempted suicide, possible triggers
1. The Return

Doctor John Watson turned over in bed, pulling the blankets tighter around himself. He threw an arm out wildly, his fingers snatching at thin air, desperately trying to hold on to something unseen. He began to mutter softly,

"Sherlock."

A pair of thin, soft hands cupped his face and a soft voice called out his name.

"John, John, wake up. It's just a nightmare. I'm here John." John bolted upright, panting, cold sweat dripping down his neck. He looked into the deep green eyes that were staring into his, concern lacing the delicate features of his wife's face. He felt himself calming down in her arms, leaning his face into her shoulder.

"I don't want to talk about it." He told her, pulling away from her touch and getting out of bed. She sighed, pushing herself out of bed as well.

"Do you at least want to know what you were saying this time?" It had been established when they were first married that she was to tell John what he'd been muttering in his sleep. It helped him, helped him to never forget, cause the nightmare was always the same.

"I already know." He turned away from her and pulled on his blue robe, stepping out of their bedroom and into the small kitchen of their apartment. Three years, it had been three years since that day. He couldn't bring himself to think about it as he shuffled about the kitchen making tea. He heard quiet footsteps behind him as his wife entered the kitchen. She sat down at their little table, built for two.

"It's today John. Are you going to-?"

"Yes. Every year Charlie." He replied sullenly, handing her a mug of tea. She took a tentative sip.

"I'll wait up for you."

"No. This year," John paused in the action of sitting down in his own chair. Doubt flickered in his eyes, something that Charlie did not miss. "This year, will you come with me?" He asked quietly, as if ashamed to admit that he needed her to help him to cope.

"Of course." Charlie carefully folded one of John's hands in both of hers. His skin was calloused and scarred, hers soft and unblemished. He placed his other hand over hers and raised the tangle of their fingers to his lips, gently kissing their intertwined fingers.

"Thank you."

O.O

He had seen the woman before, he knew who she was, and who she was to John, but he had never seen her here. John Watson stood before the dark headstone of Sherlock Holmes holding the hand of a short woman with short, unruly brown hair. She was pale, a smattering of freckles across her cheekbones. John was wearing tan pants and a black sweater, wrapped up in a grey pea coat. The woman was wearing a black skirt and a grey sweater. She shivered slightly against the cold, Sherlock smiled to himself at her attempts to hide it from John. He watched as the couple stood silently before his gravestone. He watched in silence as John sunk to his knees before the threatening black stone. His own vision wavered with tears as the woman knelt down next to him and wrapped John in her arms. Sherlock took a step back, wiping the traitorous tears from his own eyes as John cried into the woman's shoulder. After a moment he pushed her away, standing up and composing himself, before kissing the tips of his fingers and laying them on the top of the gravestone.

He turned away, squaring his shoulders and slipping his mask back into place. He took his wife's hand and together they walked slowly from the graveyard. His only friend in the world walking away from him, unaware of his presence, unaware of his continued existence; it cut into Sherlock and he wanted nothing more than to run to him and hold him and tell him that he was there and would never leave again. Sherlock resisted though, turning away from the couple and silently stealing away. He knew that Charlie would take John to get tea before heading back to their flat. Sherlock hailed a cab and quickly set off to John's flat.

O.O

"I don't want tea Charlie. I want to go home. Let's go." John pulled his hand from Charlie's as she tried to lead him into the tea house.

"John, I'm freezing, so are you, we just need a cup of tea to warm us up. I promise we'll go home. Just one cup John." Charlie told him, saying whatever she needed to in order to get him inside the tea house before he broke down of exhaustion and heart break. John relented, taking her hand again and leading the way into the small, warm tea house. They sat at a table by the front window, John staring unseeingly out at the street as Charlie ordered their tea.

"I'm sorry Charlie."

"For what?" Charlie asked, looking at her husband curiously.

"You didn't know what you were marrying into. You deserve so much better than me. I'm broken, and you're still whole. You deserve someone whole."

"Don't." Charlie stopped him, placing her left arm on the table and turning the palm up, pulling the sleeve of her sweater up, exposing the pale skin of her forearm. John traced her scars carefully with the tips of his fingers. Thin white scars wove from her wrist to her elbow, a solid line of scar tissue running across her wrist. He could still see where her wrist had been stitched closed, the delicate porcelain skin mangled and marked with the scars from her cuts and burns.

"I'm just as broken as you John." She pulled her sleeve over her scars as their waitress brought them their tea. John sat staring at her with an unusual intensity in his eyes.

"I remember that."

"Of course you do John. I remember it too." Charlie took a sip of her mint tea, refusing to meet John's eyes.

"Why did you do it Charlie? You've never told me. I want to understand why you would try to remove yourself from this world." John asked, his voice carrying an undercurrent of anger.

"I don't want to talk about it. I know you're only bringing this up because it's that day. But I don't want to talk about it, ever." She stole a quick glance at his eyes and was surprised they held concern rather than anger.

"I need to know Charlie. I need to know why you cut yourself open and landed in my hospital. I want to know why I had to stitch you back together again and pray that you pull through. I need to know why you wanted to disappear, to make sure it never happens again."

"I was alone." Charlie whispered, barely audible above the cars in the street and the people chatting happily in the café. "You saved me, not just physically, but emotionally as well. You know, after you stitched up my wrist, you stitched up my heart John. You made me whole again." John leaned across the table and pressed his lips against Charlie's.

"Let's go home."

O.O

Sherlock heard the taxi stop outside the flat. He cursed to himself, having not anticipated that they would be home so quickly. He realized that he hated not knowing this Charlie woman better, being able to predict John's actions but not hers. He quickly stepped into the stairwell, tiptoeing to the front door of the flat above. He waited in silence as he listened to them walking up the stairs. John's steps accompanied by the sharp click of his cane, Sherlock had known that the limp would come back after his "suicide". Charlie's steps were lighter, quicker, following John's heavy, uneven ones. He heard John fumbling to open the door, the resounding click of the lock as the bolt opened. Then the door was closed, and Sherlock was left crouching in an empty stairwell, listening to the inaudible voices of his best friend and his wife.

_I can't go in there._ He told himself, he recognized his own desire to let John know he was still there._ I can't do it. He would never trust again._

Sherlock, abandoning his care for John for a moment in favor of his own needs and wants, crept down to stand in front of John's door. Without a moment of hesitation he knocked twice sharply on the door. Footsteps, not the footsteps that he wanted to hear, approached the door. It opened to reveal Charlie, her face a mixed expression of confusion and anger.

"Hello Charlie dear, spare me the introductions and take me to John will you?" Sherlock smiled down at her, his pale skin crinkling around his eyes as he did so. Charlie took a step back, oddly intimidated by this tall, incredibly attractive man.

"John!" She shouted into the flat, taking another step away from the door as Sherlock let himself in.

"You know I used to live here with John, I was a bit shocked that he didn't find a new place once you got married." Sherlock provided, absently making conversation as he felt something stirring inside of him. He believed he was actually nervous, a tiny bit nervous for the first time in his life. It was a strange sensation this, doubt, this tiny doubt that was plaguing his mind. Of course John would be happy to see him, there was no doubt about that.

"What is it Char-?" John stopped midsentence, staring at Sherlock in disbelief. He dropped the basket of laundry that he had evidently been taking to the wash.

"What the HELL?!" John lunged at Sherlock, covering the distance between them quickly and throwing the younger man onto the floor. He pulled back a fist and swung at Sherlock, striking him across the face.

"John! It's me! Stop!" Sherlock pushed John away, holding a hand to his bloodied nose. Charlie was pulling John away from Sherlock. John was crying, hot, angry tears streaming down his face and he shouted obscenities at Sherlock.

"How? HOW?!"

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose, tilting his head back and ignoring John. "I suppose you don't love me enough to avoid my nose anymore." He retorted sharply. John stopped struggling to get away from Charlie.

"Why?"

"It was necessary for your survival John. And that of Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade."

"Why didn't you come back the moment it was safe YOU BASTARD?!" John shouted, managing to pull himself free of Charlie's arms. He jumped at Sherlock, wrapping his arms around the taller man's waist and knocking him to the ground. He found his face centimeters from Sherlocks', their eyes locked, a challenge darting between them. John felt dizzy and disoriented, this had to be a dream. It was impossible that Sherlock was here. It just wasn't logical. John made up his mind, considering it was just a dream, he knew what he had to do. Without another moment's hesitation, he pressed his lips to Sherlocks'. Sherlock froze beneath him, taken aback by John's sudden advances. After a moment Sherlock found himself rather enjoying the kiss, pushing back against John's lips. This simple, closed lip kiss was perfect, John felt the happiness flowing through him, finally a dream that ended with something other than Sherlock falling off the roof of Saint Bard's.

"John would you care to explain why you're kissing some man on the floor of our flat?" Charlie's concerned voice pierced his thoughts, and John momentarily panicked, perhaps it wasn't a dream after all. He pulled away from Sherlock, moving off of him and standing up. Sherlock stood up next to him, struggling to replace his mask of cool indifference, the kiss had unnerved him.

"Don't worry dear it's all a dream." John replied, giving Charlie a quick peck on the cheek.

"John, you're not dreaming. We've just got home after visiting your best friend's grave. He died three years ago today. Do you not remember?"

John froze, turning slowly to look at Sherlock.

"So you're real, and we've just kissed?"

"Yes." The calm, familiar baritone replied.

"You have a lot of explaining to do."

"As do you, you've got an American wife who's pregnant and you're living in our flat." Sherlock retorted. John's face fell, he turned to Charlie.

"Pregnant?" He asked quietly, his voice hitching.

"How did he know?" Charlie glanced at Sherlock, her voice coming out in a barely audible whisper.

"I see that dear John is in for a long day of explanations then." Sherlock smirked, sitting down in his old armchair. "Shall I begin?"


	2. The Storm

John didn't know what to do, so he simply sat in his chair, facing Sherlock in the chair that had gone unoccupied for three years, while Charlie bustled around making tea for everyone. John and Sherlock regarded each other in silence. Charlie set the tray of tea and plate of biscuits down on the small table between the two chairs, resigning to sit on the floor between the two.

"So you're Mr. Sherlock Holmes then?" Charlie asked, feeling the need to break the strange tension between her husband and his supposedly deceased best friend.

"Obviously." Sherlock replied, picking up his tea. "Black, two sugars?" He asked Charlie.

"Um, no. I didn't know how you like it, so I didn't add anything yet."

"Can't even make proper tea." Sherlock commented, dropping two sugar cubes into his cup.

"Sherlock!" John shouted at him, coming to his wife's defense.

"She's American John! Why would you feel the need to go off and marry an American once I had jumped?!" Sherlock spat back, setting his tea down. John glared at him.

"What has this got anything to do with you explaining where you've been and why you left?" John tried to steer the conversation away from his relationship with Charlie, which he may have just dropped into the fire through his act of kissing Sherlock. His face flushed with color, remembering the feel of Sherlock's soft lips and the surprising reaction.

"Stop thinking about kissing me John." Sherlock instructed, picking up his tea and casually taking a sip. Charlie couldn't take this man anymore. She jumped up.

"Now listen! I know you're his best friend and every year since you've been gone he's dragged himself down to your gravestone and come home hopelessly drunk and cursing your name and babbling utter nonsense and you can't just show up all of a sudden and demand his attention like this!" She shouted at the detective. Sherlock set down his tea and looked into Charlie's eyes.

"I'm starting to quite like this one John. Although I would prefer she had stayed platonic friend over this superficial marriage ritual you've employed." He replied calmly, his eyes still locked with Charlie's. Charlie narrowed her eyes at him, her small fingers clenching into fists.

"Now Charlie, come here." John reached out and pulled the viciously spun up and very pissed off American onto his lap, securing his hands around her waist to prevent her from jumping at Sherlock. "You have to understand, we used to, well, we used to play some very dangerous games, with some very high risks."

"That doesn't mean he can just leave you to spiral into such a state of helplessness and emptiness that it takes saving the life of a suicidal college student to bring you any meaning in your life."

"Oh you saved her then? How boring." Sherlock observed, taking another sip of tea.

"I did. She needed me and I needed her."

Sherlock nodded, as if conceding that it was a valid reason to normal people, but not for high functioning sociopaths such as himself.

"What more could you want Sherlock? You were gone, left me, all alone. For a while I left. I went to Dublin, I got an apartment, I started work at a local hospital. One night a college student from America was brought in. She needed saving. I fell in love with her."

"Ugh, love, such a boring, pointless emotion. Why can't you just learn that emotions are pointless, silly things?"

"You came back didn't you? Some emotions must have been involved in that." Charlie told him. Sherlock regarded her with cold eyes.

"John needed to know about you, your," He paused and looked her over slowly, drawing out his response. "State." He finished, nonchalantly bringing his teacup to his lips.

"Right, we'll discuss that later Charlie." John told her, indicating her stomach. She rolled her eyes and pulled away from John, standing up and heading for their bedroom.

"You could be a bit happier you know." She told him angrily, slamming the door behind her.

"Why is she in my room John? That's my room."

"Was, was your room Sherlock. Until you decided to jump off a bloody rooftop and leave me all alone!" John's voice rose, his anger bubbling to the surface.

"I did it for you. Will you not understand that? There were snipers John. Three of them. One for you, one for Lestrade, and one for Mrs. Hudson. I had to. Unless they saw me jump, you would be dead." Sherlock risked a glance at John, John's eyes filled with a surprising mix of emotions. He plowed on, getting frustrated. "Don't you see?! IT WAS FOR YOU!" Sherlock felt control slipping away, something he had never had a problem with before. He struggled to bring himself back to the calm, collected detective that he needed to be.

"Why didn't you come back sooner?"

"I had to make sure it would never happen again. I had to destroy every strand of Moriarty's criminal web. It took a long time. It's safe now."

"So you expect to just waltz back in here and we'd pick up exactly where we left off then?"

"Well yes, if you hadn't gone and gotten married to some younger American while I was gone then yes, that's exactly what would have happened. Now we have to deal with her. Mycroft can help speed up the divorce process of course and as for the child I'm sure he'd be more than willing to pay the child support for you-." Sherlock stopped at the look on John's face. "What?"

"You expect me to _divorce my wife_ and _abandon my child_ so you can move back in with me and we can solve murders together?! ARE YOU CRAZY SHERLOCK?!" John slammed his hand down on the table, causing the teacups to rattle noisily. Sherlock looked up at the very angry form of Doctor John Watson.

"Yes."

O.O

Charlie ran back out into the sitting room when she heard John's shouts. He was on the floor, straddling Sherlock, pulling back a fist to hit him again.

"Stop it!" Charlie shouted, grabbing John and pulling him off of Sherlock. "This is your best friend, who is miraculously alive, and you're just going to beat him up because he doesn't _like me?_ That's ridiculous! There are much better reasons to attack him, the most prominent being that he is an arrogant ass, but honestly John! You're almost forty years old and you're behaving like some crazed teenager!"

"He's also married to a twenty-six year old American; trying to hold onto a quickly disappearing youth are you John?" Sherlock teased, the faintest trace of a smile tugging on his lips.

"Shut up Sherlock." John spat, standing up and walking out of the flat. "I'll be back later!" He shouted over his shoulder as he left. Sherlock walked into the bathroom to inspect the damage to his face. Charlie began cleaning up the broken teacups that had resulted from John's most recent attack on Sherlock.

"So, John's told me all about you. Said you can tell all about someone just by looking at them."

"Yes." Came the reply from the bathroom. Sherlock shut off the water and stepped back into the sitting room, his face cleaned. He narrowed his eyes at Charlie. "I know you were abused as a child both mentally and physically and that the moment you turned eighteen you ran away. You attended college for three years and then headed to Dublin for a year, hoping to find your place. You hurt yourself, finally going so far as you slit your own wrist. Someone got you to the hospital, probably a concerned neighbor, most definitely not a flat mate; you dislike the company of other people as much as you crave companionship, interesting. John was the doctor on call when you were rushed in, he stitched up your wrist and being the ridiculously sentimental man that he is, checked on you every day while you were in recovery. You felt that you could not live without him, most likely because he was the first person to show any concern towards you after your attempted suicide. He was just getting over my own suicide and therefore you latched to each other. It wasn't long before you married and moved back here, to _our _flat and the two of you took up residence in _my _room. You're fourteen weeks pregnant but hadn't told John because you got pregnant in high school and never told anyone, aborting that baby before anyone could notice. The only thing I don't know is why you're still here. I'm back now, John can move on and get his life back, and you can go find someone else to take away from their best friend."

O.O

John returned to the flat to find Sherlock perched on his chair sporting a blooming black eye and a broken nose and Charlie sobbing hysterically in their bed. He knew then that he couldn't have it all and they would never get along.


	3. The Exposure

A/N: Feeling like the least productive person on the planet today. Spent all morning reading Johnlock fics, only to sit down and write more of my own. Hope you like it, thanks for the follows! Also I do apologize for the gap between updates! I'm going to try to get more consistent and come up with a weekly or biweekly update schedule.

John awoke abruptly, sitting up in bed with a sharp intake of breath. Charlie mumbled something beside him and curled closer to his side. He carefully detached his wife and crept into the kitchen, pulling his robe on as he went. He jumped, startled to find Sherlock perched in his chair, his fingers steepled under his nose as he contemplated something.

"Thinking of how to apologize to Charlie?" John asked, putting the kettle on.

"No. She ought to be apologizing to me actually. Look what she's done to my face." Sherlock replied, waving a hand to vaguely indicate the broken nose and blackened eye.

"I daresay you deserved it. What did you say to her while I was out?"

"Nothing that you shouldn't already know. But judging by her reaction you certainly aren't aware of the skeletons in her closet." Sherlock glanced up at the mantelpiece. "Where's my skull?"

"Mrs. Hudson took it."

"Why?"

"Probably some, 'silly sentimental' reason." John replied, an edge to his voice.

"You're angry with me." Sherlock stated immediately, picking up on the slight tension in John's shoulders and the sharpness in his voice.

"Obviously." John spat the phrase at his ex-flat mate, presumably-dead-but-not best friend, whatever Sherlock was to him now. Sherlock's eyes darkened.

"That's my line."

"I'm aware." John set a mug of coffee next to Sherlock, who reached for it and held it in front of his face. He opened his mouth to speak and John cut him off.

"Yes it's black with two sugars." The ex-soldier answered the question that he had missed being asked for three years. He turned quickly from Sherlock, hoping that his face didn't betray his thoughts. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and took a sip.

"You're not just angry though. You're worried." Sherlock began, shifting in the chair to get a better view of John. John sat down in his own chair with his tea. He shot Sherlock an exasperated look.

"Oh go on then." He gave in. The corners of Sherlock's mouth twitched, obviously hiding a small smile.

"Well yes, you're worried. Worried about what will happen now between you and Charlie, and you and me, and Charlie and me. You're afraid that she'll leave you after you kissed me yesterday, and you're wondering if that might not be best because I'm obviously not going anywhere and you're displaying obvious signs of attraction. I am willing to admit that I am not opposed to the idea of our becoming "involved" as people would say, our lives before I left mirrored that of a married couple without the sex obviously, but I would be willing to incorporate that in exchange for the immediate removal of that woman you seem so attached to."

John's eyes had shot to Sherlock's at the mention of his 'obvious signs of attraction', his face and neck growing hot. Now at the mention of being in a sexual relationship with Sherlock Holmes, _the_ Sherlock Holmes, he had to tear his gaze away from Sherlock, his face and ears burning, and an odd wriggling feeling in his stomach. He realized that he was embarrassed, and nervous. Extremely self conscious suddenly, John grasped on to the only bit of Sherlock's deduction that he felt he could discuss at the moment.

"You're asking for the 'removal of that woman'? 'That woman'? Sherlock that is _my wife!"_

"Yes and now that you see the problem too you can solve it." Sherlock replied coolly, setting down his mug and resting his elbow on his knees.

"Sherlock I fail to see how _Charlie_ is the problem here!" John stood up, moving away from their chairs and heading back into the kitchen.

"You're implying that I am the problem. I can inform you that I am not the problem, but rather the long awaited solution to the question of your wants and needs." Sherlock informed him, his tone never changing as he displayed an unusual amount of patience, like a teacher waiting for a particularly slow student to grasp the answer to a relatively simple question.

"Please Sherlock, just please, answer me this one question. Completely honestly, no holding back." John looked up to Sherlock, who had stood from his chair and was standing in front of him.

"Just one question then."

"What do you want from me?"

John's eyes searched Sherlock's face as the other man contemplated his question. He stared into the intelligent, ever changing eyes of his best friend; eyes he had been searching for in everyone he met since the fall. He could see the intricate gears and cogs turning in Sherlock's mind, contemplating how to answer the question truthfully.

"I cannot answer that John."

"Sherlock! One question! One simple question! I'll answer one too." John's eyes narrowed at the self proclaimed sociopath standing calmly in front of him.

"Fine." Sherlock reached out slowly and gently took John's face in his hands. He leaned forward, tipping John's head up as he bent his down and gently pressed their lips together. John panicked, caught completely off guard. He struggled against Sherlock, pushing the taller man away from him, a wild look in both of their eyes. Sherlock smirked at the look on John's face.

"Now that I've answered your question, you must answer mine." He took a step towards John, their bodies almost touching and Sherlock's warm breath stirring the curls on John's forehead. John could hear his heart in his ears, the rushing of blood blocking out all other sounds.

"Did," Sherlock pressed a gentle kiss slowly to John's cheek. "You," Another kiss, this time on his jaw. "Like," A third kiss, at the corner of his mouth. John could feel his face and ears burning, his heart jumping wildly against his ribcage. "That?" Sherlock finished, knowing the answer, and pressing his lips to John's.

John stood frozen for a moment, taking in the feel of Sherlock's soft lips brushing his own. Sherlock waited, letting John's mind catch up, waiting for him to react. In a moment John was pulling Sherlock against him, hands twisted in the tee shirt that Sherlock always wore to sleep, sucking Sherlock's lips between his own and holding to him seemingly for dear life. Sherlock smiled into the kiss, allowing John to take control, finding something frighteningly addicting in giving up his control. He was pushing his body into John's, lips locked, tongues fighting, as if they were trying to absorb each other. John found himself being pressed forcefully against the kitchen table, the sharp corner digging into his leg. He grunted in protest when Sherlock pushed harder, the corner stabbing him painfully now. Sherlock simply picked up John, never releasing his lips, and set him on the table, knocking over John's mug of tea and a plate of toast onto the floor. The shattering of the dishes snapped John back to his senses. He pulled away from Sherlock, who had been trying to crawl over John onto the table. John propped himself up on his elbows, staring up into the crazed eyes of his flat mate and best friend.

"Was wondering how far you two would go on the kitchen table." Charlie commented from her place in the living room. John jumped at the sound of her voice and looked over at his wife. She was standing by his chair in her pajamas, short brown hair sticking up in every direction, shorts twisted and tee shirt hanging off her frame. She was frowning at them both.

"I knew there had to be something more between you, the way you always talked about _him." _She nodded her head towards Sherlock, who had gotten off of John and was standing in front of the table, looking both proud and angry at the same time. John shamefully got down from the table, walking carefully to Charlie.

"I'm sorry dear-"

"John Hamish Watson don't you _dare _apologize for that." Charlie told him sternly. John stopped, confused.

"What? You're not angry?" John asked carefully.

"A little. But I want you to be happy John." She looked over to Sherlock, who was leaning calmly against the wall by the door, looking surprised for once. "If this jackass makes you happy, then," She paused, nervously snapping the rubber band around her wrist. "I'll leave."

"Goodbye." Sherlock told her happily. John rounded on him.

"Sherlock." He hissed. Sherlock frowned and went back to leaning moodily against the wall.

"You don't have to go anywhere Charlie. We can figure this out." John reassured her, pulling her into his arms.

"John, look at it logically-"

"Oh good I love logic." Sherlock interrupted, walking through the living room and picking up his long abandoned violin. He set to work tuning it.

"Look at it logically," Charlie began again. "You've got feelings for that psychopath,"

"He's a high functioning sociopath." John replied before he could stop himself. Sherlock smiled slightly and continued to tune his violin.

"Okay, well you've got some pretty strong feelings for that sociopath, evident by what I just witnessed on our table." John's face turned pink at this. "And that sociopath in the corner tuning his violin loudly doesn't seem like much of a sociopath around you. There's something special there, and I have no right to stop it."

"Charlie. You have every right. You're my wife. I love you. You're pregnant too, we're going to be parents, I can't just run away from all that." He objected, his heart telling him to run to Sherlock, and his brain telling him to stay with Charlie.

"You don't love me as much as you love him and everyone in this room is painfully aware of that John." Charlie looked up at him, hurt evident in her eyes. But there was something else, she seemed, almost relieved.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing. You're the one who's been keeping secrets John. I'd have thought that your wife had every right to know that you're actually gay."

"I'm bisexual Charlie and you've kept a pretty big secret from me too. When did you plan on telling me that you were pregnant? That I was going to be a dad?"

Charlie tore her eyes away from John's in favor of staring nervously at their intertwined fingers.

"Can we not have this conversation right now? I've far too little caffeine in my system to be doing this." Charlie countered, dropping John's hand and stepping around him to make herself a cup of coffee.

"No, no you cannot be drinking that. You are pregnant and it is very bad for the baby." He took the mug she had picked up from her hands and put it down in the sink.

"I need my coffee John."

"No."

"I need my fucking coffee John."

"No." Exasperated and emotionally exhausted at only seven a.m., Charlie gave up and threw herself down in Sherlock's chair.

"That's my chair."

"By God it's like I don't even live here anymore!" She shouted, jumping out of the chair. She stormed into the bedroom she shared with John and slammed the door behind her. They heard the bolt lock and things being thrown around the room. Sherlock perched himself in his chair, playing his violin softly. John let out a large sigh and fell down into his own chair.

"Bit of a violent streak she's got there." Sherlock commented as they heard something heavy fall to the floor from behind the locked door.

"She's just upset. You have to understand, think of what she's discovered in the past twenty four hours Sherlock." Sherlock ignored him, playing his violin louder.

"Would you like to know everything she's not telling you?" Sherlock asked innocently, setting down his violin and his bow.

"No Sherlock, don't go deducing my wife okay? I'm sure she'd tell me if it was important."

"She's been pregnant before."

"Sherlock!" John turned on him angrily. "I said no!" Sherlock smirked before picking up his violin again.

"She was in high school. She aborted it. That's why she didn't want to tell you." He finished, plucking carefully at the strings.

"Sherlock I said I didn't want to know and I meant it dammit!" John sighed, sinking into his chair. "What are we going to do? The three of us?" He looked up at Sherlock from between his fingers and tried to suppress the rising desire he felt.

"We will live here. Charlie can live upstairs until she finds somewhere else."

"Are you honestly suggesting that we share a room? That we share what used to be your bedroom and is the room I've slept in with my wife for the last three years?" Sherlock looked slightly taken aback.

"Of course we would share a room John. We've just expressed our intentions and inclinations towards each other and I thought that made it perfectly clear that you and Charlie would be divorcing and that you and I would be considered 'romantically involved.'" Sherlock looked to John, who was gaping at him open mouthed. "She has just told you that she wants you to be happy, and to be with me, obviously you're now getting a divorce and we will be together."

"I don't think that's what-" John stopped talking as Charlie tore open the bedroom door and stormed out into the living room. She was wrapped up in a thick woolen jacket and dragging a large purple suitcase behind her.

"Goodbye John." She shouted before storming into the hall, slamming the door behind her. John jumped up and chased her down the stairs.


	4. The Half-Secret

A/N: Feeling especially productive this week, so I think I'll write a few chapters and start updating bi-weekly, I've gotten a few new ideas for the story and I'm thinking that it will actually be quite long. Thanks for reading and I'm always glad to get feedback! Also feel free to drop a prompt in my inbox if there's anything you really want to see! Thanks for reading!

Sherlock woke up on the couch, stretching and getting up quickly. He could hear John's slow breathing from the bedroom, and the sound of Charlie's footsteps from the room above. John had convinced Charlie to stay, for now at least, and she was sleeping in the upstairs room. John had the bedroom, and Sherlock had taken the couch.

Soft footsteps descended the stairs; the telltale squeak alerting Sherlock that Charlie had three more steps before she was in the flat. She appeared in the doorway a moment later, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a black tank top. She smiled at Sherlock in that sleepy, early morning way. Her short brown hair stood up, a mass of tangled curls and waves. Sherlock realized that she must straighten it daily. How absurd.

"Coffee?" Charlie offered, turning to the little machine in the kitchen.

"Black, two sugars." Sherlock replied, slipping quietly into the bathroom to get dressed. Charlie sighed and waited for the coffee, knowing that she had to drink it before John got up. She was rinsing out the coffee pot after filling two mugs with the hot black liquid when a pair of thin, pale hands wrapped themselves around hers and took the pot from her. She stepped back as Sherlock finished washing out the glass coffee pot and put it in the drying rack to drip.

"I, I apologize Charlie. I overstepped social boundaries and intruded on your privacy. I apologize for that." Sherlock admitted, turning to her. Charlie stood in the kitchen with her mouth hanging open, gaping at Sherlock. It took her a minute to regain her composure, she straightened, closing her mouth and running a hand through her short hair. She looked up at Sherlock's light blue eyes, a hint of remorse passing through them.

"Thank you. I apologize for your face. I can't believe I resorted to such juvenile behavior, but, you made me so angry." Charlie attempted her own apology, making sure that her opinion was heard as well. Sherlock rubbed a hand over his black eye, which was no longer swollen and starting to return to its normal color. His nose had been set by John, and the bandages across his face brought a surprisingly human quality to this man, the man who seemed to be above it all.

"You do have quite a violent streak. John tried to hide it but I saw the broken glass from those pictures you smashed last night. So many pictures you two have, so sentimental." He analyzed, sipping his coffee.

"Don't act like you're above human emotions and attachments Sherlock. You are _in love _with my husband, and there is plenty of evidence to support this so don't even try to deny it. You've gotten pretty sentimental yourself." Charlie accused, picking up her own mug and pouring milk into the cup. Sherlock frowned.

"I'm entitled to one person. And that person is John. You are in the way of that, and I have to say that I will not be upset or fazed at all to see you go." Charlie turned to shoot Sherlock a glare.

"I'm not going far Sherlock, no need to be so smug." She smiled slightly, taking a sip of her coffee.

Confusion flashed briefly across Sherlock's face, before he hid it again behind his mask of cool indifference.

"Of course. You're pregnant, and sadly it is John's child, you're going to continue to live with us aren't you? You'll sleep in the upstairs room of course and John will eventually come around to the idea of sharing a room with me, but the three of us will share this flat that's only built for two." He sent a cold glare her way. "You'll have the baby, and I would hope you would find your own flat after that. John can go visit his child, but not be permitted to bring the thing here. I dislike children, and John will respect that."

"You're a ridiculous man Sherlock Holmes." Charlie set down her mug angrily and fled to her room upstairs.

"Sherlock." Sherlock turned around to find John standing in the living room in his short blue bathrobe, arms crossed angrily across his chest.

"You heard it all?"

"Everything. How could you be so mean to her like that? You know what, never mind, I can answer that question for myself. I mean, what is she to you? Just an obstacle. Why would you consider the feelings of an obstacle when you didn't even consider the feeling of your best friend before _faking your own suicide!" _John shouted the last bit, angrily clenching his hands.

A look of remorse flashed across Sherlock's sharp features as he walked to John, folding the distraught man into his arms. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to John's trembling lips, reassuring him that he was there, that he wasn't leaving. John clung to him, twisting his fingers in Sherlock's dark purple button-up. He kissed him back, leaning into his warm body and holding Sherlock's bottom lip between his. His tongue flicked between Sherlock's lips, Sherlock letting him in. John's tongue explored his mouth, running across the inside of his cheeks and the backs of his teeth. Sherlock let out an involuntary moan into John's mouth. John smiled, pulling away slightly.

"Maybe we could do this after all."

"Of course we can do this. The only problem left is the matter of your marital status." Sherlock concluded, stepping away from John to pour himself another cup of coffee. Loud footsteps drifted up the hall as he was settling himself into his chair. John froze in the act of buttering a slice of slightly burnt toast as Mrs. Hudson's pleasant voice called up to them.

"John! Charlie! I'm back. I'll just drop my luggage. Be up in a mo'." John's head whipped around to Sherlock.

"Does she-?" He began.

"Of course not." Sherlock cut him off, his tone suggesting that this should have been obvious. Hurried footsteps dashed down the stairs and Charlie stood in the living room, having changed into a pair of black skinny jeans and a hoodie, her hair straightened on one side and curled on the other.

"She doesn't know!" She exclaimed. Sherlock shot her a look, opening his mouth to point out that this had been established; John silenced him with a quick frown.

"Hide." John told Sherlock, his tone leaving no room for the younger man to argue. The detective threw his nose in the air and walked haughtily and pointedly into John's room. Neither Charlie nor John missed the sound of Sherlock falling onto their bed.

"So I guess I really will be living upstairs." Charlie muttered to herself. John heard her and turned to his wife, remorse in his eyes.

"I-" He began. The doctor was cut off by the arrival of a jovial Mrs. Hudson, who swept into the flat happily. She beamed at them, pulling Charlie into a tight hug.

"Hello dear. It's so good to be home. How've you been?" She asked, sitting down at the table and gesturing for the couple, or whatever they were now, to sit down with her. They obliged, John popping up a moment later to get their landlady a cup of tea.

"So how was the vacation?" Charlie asked, pulling her half-done hair into a very short ponytail. Mrs. Hudson took a shallow swallow of her tea before setting it back down, much too hot to drink.

"Oh it was lovely. I do love France, and especially Strasbourg. It's simply gorgeous. How were you two while I was away?"

"Oh, the usual I guess-" Charlie was cut off as John blurted out half of what they had needed to keep from their landlady.

"Charlie's pregnant!" He immediately clamped his mouth shut, surprised at himself. Well, rather that bit of news than the other, which would probably give poor Mrs. Hudson a heart attack. Charlie shot him a look while Mrs. Hudson set down her tea and turned to John. Her tenants prepared for the worst.

"Well it's about bloody time John. Honestly you two get at it often enough." Charlie turned a deep shade of red and John felt heat surging down his neck and lighting his ears on fire.

"Mrs. H-" Charlie began, trying to control her blush.

"Not to worry dear, if I hear you I just go sit in the café for a bit. Not a problem, though it would be nice if you left a note so I wouldn't walk into the building and be greeted with that."

"We- I- Apologizes-" Charlie stuttered. John let himself regain his composure before accidently revealing anything else. His phone beeped from across the room. Charlie jumped up to grab it, thankful for any excuse to step away from Mrs. Hudson's knowing smirk.

"You've got a text from-" Charlie let the sentence hang unfinished in the air. She smiled quickly at her husband and their landlady before excusing herself into the bedroom. She closed the door quietly behind her and locked it. Sherlock was lounging on their bed, having taken off the clothes he had been wearing and wrapping himself in Charlie's bathrobe. It looked ridiculous on him. The detective was at least a foot taller than her so the robe stopped a few inches above his knees, and Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes may look fantastic in just about anything, but even he looked ridiculous in a fuzzy, bright pink bathrobe.

"That's my robe." Charlie stated, her voice both accusatory and confused.

"Oh well done Mrs. Watson well done. Brilliant observation." Sherlock replied, sarcasm oozing from his words.

"Why are you wearing my robe? And why are you texting John about a case? He hasn't had a case in _three years_. And I know you're not on one, John and I are the only people who are even aware that you have a heartbeat." She stood her ground by the door, arms crossed over her chest.

"Intimidation factor, interesting, trying to make up for your height." Sherlock concluded, half to himself and half to the stunned woman standing over him. "Oh and on the business of your name," Sherlock continued, addressing Charlie fully, "I ask that you no longer go by 'Charlie Joyce Watson' but would rather you revert to your maiden name, if that's not asking too much Miss Carson." He smirked at her.

"You are unbelievable!" Charlie dropped her arms and sat down on the bed next to the detective.

"I need him Charlie. I barely survived without him." Sherlock's voice had dropped, barely audible even in the quiet room. Charlie glanced at him, his features wearing a light mask of indifference, but his emotions shone through. She knew he was having trouble keeping his carefully constructed disguise in place.

"Time Sherlock. He just needs time, I need time, the three of us need time. We have to adjust to each other, our new roles, how we're going to handle this all." Sherlock opened his mouth to argue but she cut him off. "I know it seems unfair, I know it feels like we're taking as long as we damn well please, but we're not. I promise that. You've had three years to come to terms with this, three years to formulate a ridiculous plan of action. You have your goals set out in front of you; whereas, John and I, our entire lives got shuffled the moment you walked in that door. We had a loose plan, have kids in a few years, move to the country, maybe even move back to my hometown, but none of that's going to happen now." Sherlock, in an uncharacteristic display of his need for reassurance, reached out and took Charlie's hand. She gave him a small smile and stroked her thumb lightly along the back of his hand. "He may not know it yet, but we'll divorce, fairly quickly too, I'll live upstairs, you'll live down here. I'll have the baby, maybe move out, I know that's what you want and I'm sure by the time the baby's born John will have come to terms with his feelings towards you. I'll visit often, John will visit me and our child often, probably drag you along too as much as you dislike children. He's going to expect you to put up with this baby Sherlock." She gave him a pointed look, letting him know that this was a crucially important aspect to the future she was describing. He knew that already though, knew that if he wanted to secure his future with John he would have to put up with this fiery, yet mothering, American and the child she would share with his beloved doctor.

"Thank you." Sherlock muttered the phrase quietly, as if ashamed to admit he had needed any help in the first place. Charlie smiled and patted his hand. She stood up and quietly left the room, leaving the world's greatest detective laying on her husband's bed in a fuzzy pink bathrobe.

"You're welcome."

A/N: So, thoughts? Like I mentioned before I'm going to try my best to update every other week on Saturday or Sunday, and if you have any questions, comments, concerns, or suggestions feel free to leave them in a PM or a review. I absolutely love hearing from you guys and hope you enjoyed it! Until next chapter, Tschus!


	5. The Hole in the Table

A/N: Hope you like it, and, as always, feel free to leave feedback, questions, comments, concerns, or ideas in a review or drop me a PM! Thanks for reading! Special thanks to this awesome reader, innenlebenaussenwelt, for leaving me the wonderful review that made me want to write this now, and get it published a week and a half early.

John woke up with a crushing sensation in his chest. Something was pressing down on his ribs, hard. He tried to move his arms and found that they were pinned under something warm and squishy. He tried to take a deep breath and inhaled a mass of black curls.

"Sherlock-" He groaned, trying to push the detective off of him. The man didn't stir. The bedroom door opened and Charlie walked in as John struggled to free himself of the detective's possessive cuddle. John tried to work his fingers between his arms and Sherlock's arms, but the younger man just curled around him tighter.

"Morning John, morning Sherlock." Charlie greeted them. "What happened to the couch?" She asked, chuckling. She may be upset about the destruction of her marriage, but this was too amusing to be angry about. John groaned, giving up and allowing Sherlock to snuggle into him without protest.

"He was _supposed to be_ on the couch. I'm not quite sure when this happened." He prodded Sherlock's neck, trying to provoke him into waking up.

"No." Came the muffled voice of the consulting detective, heavy with sleep. Long legs tried to curl around John. John kicked him.

"Bloody hell Sherlock, get up please." John demanded, throwing Charlie an exasperated look. A week and a half had passed since Sherlock had showed up in the kitchen and they had been trying their best to keep his continued existence a secret. It was rather hard, keeping the World's Only Consulting Detective from blowing up the kitchen or shooting holes through the wall when he was bored out of his mind. It was rather like keeping a Clydesdale in a dog house, or, trying to. Sherlock didn't leave the flat, proclaiming that it was too boring, and then griped about being stuck inside, declaring it even worse.

"Sherlock if you get up now we can go see Lestrade today."

"Simple bribery isn't going to work here John, I'm not a child. Besides, the Yarders don't even know I'm alive."

"Well then why don't we just tell them? Get you a nice murder? Calm you down and keep you from killing Charlie while I'm at work?"

"Fine." Sherlock flipped himself off of John in that strangely haughty way of his, standing up and straightening his long blue robe.

Earlier in the week he had gone upstairs to the room Charlie shared with stacks of old brown boxes. The boxes were filled with Sherlock's stuff of course; no one had had the heart to donate anything. Over the past few days bits of Sherlock's belongings began popping up in the flat, a pillow here, a statuette there, a microscope on the table. Slowly but surely he was reclaiming the flat. John didn't mind in the least, taking comfort in the reappearance of the mixed mess that was their belongings; Sherlock had even commandeered half the wardrobe and John's cozy jumpers now mingled with his much-missed suits. Charlie had noticed that the boxes themselves didn't go anywhere, or get any emptier, but that as Sherlock moved his stuff from the boxes, her stuff got moved into the boxes. She didn't mention this to John, knowing that he would be suggesting it in a few months anyway, sooner if Sherlock got his way.

Charlie set two mugs of tea down on John's bedside table as he sat up in bed and stretched his sore shoulder. Sherlock picked up his mug and headed for the kitchen. Charlie sat down on the bed next to John, running her hands nervously over her stomach. At almost sixteen weeks, she was showing now, not so much to draw attention, but it was definitely there.

"How are you going to break it to the Yarders?" Charlie asked, tracing invisible patterns over the fabric of her shirt.

"I don't know. I think we'll have Greg over and tell him privately, and then Sherlock can figure out how to deal with Donovan and Anderson and the rest of those twats." John placed a hand over Charlie's, which had been nervously twisting through the thing fabric of her shirt. She stopped and smiled at him carefully before opening her mouth to speak.

"We need to talk about this John." John shot her a confused look, she saw right through it. "Don't even try John; you know exactly what I'm talking about." John shot her a somewhat hurt look before responding.

"This, situation, is rather difficult I know, but I'm sure we can work it out." John stood up from the bed and picked up his tea, obviously trying to escape the subject.

"John Hamish Watson! That's what I'm trying to do now sit down and listen to me!" John froze in the act of putting on his slippers, sinking back into the bed at the sound of Charlie's suddenly commanding voice. "I apologize for shouting, but we need to get this sorted."

"Yes, I know. I would just rather not talk about it."

"We need to though."

"Alright. I know you need to know what's going to happen between us now, and I can honestly say that I have no idea." John admitted, taking Charlie's hand in his again.

"I think you do know John, deep down, somewhere that you're trying to push down and bury and keep secret because you're afraid of it. John once you let go and admit it, first to yourself and then to the world, you will feel better. Trust me." Charlie smiled at him, squeezing his hand. "John we both know divorce is coming, is here, and we both know why. I've come to terms with it, but have you?" John stared at his soon-to-be-ex-wife in amazement. How had she figured this out? Well, in all fairness the make out session on the kitchen table was probably a bit hint. How the hell was she so comfortable with this though, so accepting? It made him dizzy just thinking about it.

"Tell me then Charlie, why do we need to divorce?" John asked, half afraid that she would get it right, and he would have to admit something he wasn't prepared to.

"We have to come to an end John, because there's a certain arrogant bastard pacing the living room right now, and he's in love with you despite his claims to be a sociopath, and you're in love with him despite your claims to be heterosexual. And it would be wrong to get in the way of that, wrong and demented and crazy to try and stop it." Charlie smiled at him again.

"How-?"

"I know you John. Honestly you think I can spend two and a half years with you and not pick up on these things? Don't worry about me, I've always known that I came second best to that crazy detective, even when he wasn't here and you thought he never would be. I know you'll worry more about me during this than yourself or Sherlock, cause that's just the way you are, but you don't need to." Charlie looked into his eyes, eyes she had come to love, eyes filled with concern and fear and sorrow and love and hope. She pulled the teary-eyed doctor into her arms.

"If you love something, you let it go." She whispered to him quietly, knowing that he was no longer _her _John, had never truly been _her _John, but had always been _his,_ even as he had pledged his life to her.

"Charlie, I don't, I can't, I just-" John struggled to express his worry, his gratitude, his regret, but Charlie just smiled, the somewhat hollow smile of someone who knows they've done right, even though they've hurt themselves doing it.

"Alright soldier enough emotional crap for one week. Let's go get breakfast okay?" Charlie's voice was all-business, a genuine smile shining across her face as she pulled John out of bed and they walked to the living room. Sherlock was standing at the sink, furiously scrubbing his hands as something ate away at the table, bubbling and spraying droplets everywhere.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, his voice exasperated.

"Oh yes thank you John, I had forgotten _my name!"_ Sherlock shot back angrily, washing his skin raw. John sank down onto his chair with no idea what to do. Charlie however jumped into action.

"What is it?" Charlie asked, heading for a cabinet, being sure to steer clear of the puddle that had succeeded in burning through the wood and was dripping onto the floor below, sizzling as it landed.

"Acid of course." Sherlock bit back rudely.

"I'm well aware you idiot now what acid specifically?!" She shouted at him. John raised his head from his hands.

"Is it that much of a problem?" He stopped when he saw that it had eaten through their table and was working through the floor. "Bloody hell." He stood up to help. Charlie pointed a stern finger at him while pulling the baking soda from a high cabinet.

"Back up. Sherlock? What is it?!"

"Fluoroantimonic acid."

"Christ." Charlie began throwing the baking soda on the puddle. It stopped bubbling, and Charlie took her chance to get in closer to the table and pour a ring around the puddle. She dumped more baking soda under the table and into the small pool of acid on the floor. She turned to John.

"Go see that it hasn't eaten into Mrs. Hudson's ceiling. Make up something she can't know Sherlock's here, if there's any there cover anything it's touched with baking soda and be sure to have Mrs. Hudson wash off any exposed skin to be safe." John nodded, his body obeying her stern commands without hesitation. He mentally cursed at her imitation of a drill sergeant, his body snapping to obey the orders.

Sherlock was still running his hands under the water; he had gotten hold of a rag and seemed to be trying to rub off his own skin. Charlie reached over and turned off the water, taking his hands in hers and covering them in the baking soda. Sherlock sighed in relief.

"What the hell were you thinking Sherlock? Fluoroantimonic acid? Honestly? How stupid do you have to be?! Being a_ proper_ _genius_ and all I'd have assumed you _knew _that it's the strongest known acid and should not, absolutely _should not _be handled outside of a safe laboratory environment?!"

"I'm bored." Sherlock stated simply, throwing his baking soda covered hands in the air. The white powder drifted around in the air.

"You are going to be a handful."

"Excellent observation. Go down to Saint Bart's and get some biohazard disposal kits from Molly. That baking soda won't hold it forever, although I must admit I'm surprised you know anything about dealing with chemicals."

"Of course I know how to deal with chemicals. Have you forgotten that I'm a high school chemistry teacher Sherlock?"

"I found the information irrelevant, and thus deleted it. However, thinking about it now it does make sense for John to have sought out someone like me, even if he didn't much succeed." Charlie shot him a quick glare.

"I am trying to like you Sherlock, I really am. Because I know that we are always going to be stuck with each other. You're going to be with John for the rest of your lives, even if he doesn't accept that yet, and he's going to want to see his kid grow up and be there for him or her, so we," She made an exaggerated gesture with her hands, pointing between the two of them. "We, are going to have to learn to tolerate each other. Honestly, I'm trying, but you're going to have to put in a little bit more effort okay?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, staring down this short, angry, pregnant American. He clenched his teeth.

"Fine."

"Thank you."

"If you're a teacher why haven't you been going to school in the mornings then?" Sherlock asked, seeming honestly curious. Charlie stared at him.

"Seriously? The only reason I'm here is because it's a Saturday. I leave every morning at five and come home every afternoon at four. Good lord, I didn't think John _actually meant it_ when he said he could be gone for days and you wouldn't even notice."

"Well now you know it's true. It wouldn't do to doubt John again."

John re-entered the flat to find Charlie and Sherlock cleaning up the mess in their kitchen. The table had been cleared and moved, a giant hole still slightly smoking through the middle of it. He sighed; he really didn't want to go buy a new table.

"No damage down below, she was pretty suspicious though so I told her you were working on an experiment to do in class and something went wrong."

"Thanks John. I hate to ask but do you think you could pop down to Saint Bart's and grab a few biohazard clean up kits?"

"Of course." He smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. The whole room froze.

"John?" Charlie inquired, wondering what could have prompted him to kiss her. They were getting divorced, they practically already were, all they needed was the paperwork to prove it. John was also possibly-maybe-but-not-quite in a relationship with his best friend who had recently 'returned from the dead'. Charlie stared at John in confusion before a dark shape blocked her vision.

Sherlock.

Sherlock had forced himself in front of Charlie and taken John's face in his hands. Lips met hungrily, shock registering on both sides of the mouths now discovering each other keenly. Charlie took the massive, and not at all subtle, message from Sherlock, and silently retreated to her room, smiling and cursing.


	6. The Cigarette Bond

A/N: Hope you like it, and, as always, feel free to leave feedback, questions, comments, concerns, or ideas in a review or drop me a PM! Thanks for reading!

Charlie came back to the flat a half hour later, dragging three biohazard spill kits with her. She cautiously tip-toed into the flat and was relieved to find Sherlock sitting moodily on the couch.

"Got the kits." She held up her bags, her tone careful to skirt around Sherlock's obviously compromised state. He grunted in reply, perched on the couch and staring at nothing.

"Where's John gone off to?" She asked, carefully disposing of the acid and baking soda. Sherlock grumbled and shifted on the couch. "Where?" Charlie repeated.

"He went to the pub with Lestrade." Charlie frowned and pulled her iphone from her back pocket. She quickly tapped out a text to John.

_Did you two fight while I was gone? –CW_

_Can I even sign it CW anymore? –CW_

She finished cleaning up the mess quickly. Her phone buzzed as she was drying off her hands.

_Of course we fought. I don't know, CW, CC, I don't even know anymore Charlie. –JW_

_May I ask what about? Or is this something we ought to discuss once you're home? –C_

_I don't think I'll be able to talk about it until I've had a few more drinks. –JW_

_Give Greg my love then. –C_

_He's poking fun now. Says you've got me whipped. –JW_

_If he only knew who was sulking on our sofa. –C_

_Sulking? –JW_

_Well what did you expect? –C_

_I guess it isn't that surprising after all. When I get home we need to discuss what we're going to do about getting the word out about him. –JW_

_The Yarders will be such a pain. Oh and your parents. –C_

_Don't even mention my parents, good lord that's going to be painful. –JW_

_We'll talk when you get home. Don't stay out too late. Don't know how long I can trust myself to not deck Sherlock for pissing you off. –C_

_Funny. –JW_

_I'm serious. –C_

_Course you are love. –JW_

Charlie sighed in exasperation, shoving her phone into her back pocket and sitting heavily on the couch next to Sherlock.

"Look," She began. The detective cut her off.

"We need to discuss the relationship between myself and John. I am well aware."

"We'll get to that. Right now I think our more pressing issue is getting you out of this flat and let loose on London's criminal system again. You burnt a hole through the kitchen table this morning and destroyed a patch of the floor. We can't have you cooped up in this flat for much longer. Now, how're we breaking it to the world?" Charlie asked, her voice slightly mocking on the last question.

"What do you mean, how? I show up at the Yard, I work cases again. Nothing complicated about it."

"Sherlock I know you're not stupid okay? Everyone has thought you dead for three years. We have to handle this delicately." Charlie took his hands in hers. He flinched at the contact but didn't pull away, knowing that he had to get along with her for John's sake. _When did I start putting John before myself?_ He wondered, _when you set up your fake suicide genius, _another part of his mind chided him. He pushed the thoughts and voices away, turning to Charlie.

"Fine. We have Lestrade over, let John break it to him gently before he sees me, and then we will decide how to inform the rest of the Yard. Satisfied?" Sherlock held Charlie still with a piercing gaze.

"Okay, that'll work. He can come over tonight." She let go of Sherlock and stood up, picking her phone off the kitchen counter and texting John.

_Invite Greg over for dinner. Sherlock's decided we're telling him tonight. –C_

_Fantastic. –JW_

_John I can't tell if that's sarcasm or not. –C_

_Sarcasm. I'll ask him over okay? –JW_

_Alright, can you stop by the store on your way home? We don't really have anything for dinner. –C_

_Couldn't you go? I hate going to the store. –JW_

_Fine. But I'm not taking Sherlock with me. There won't be anyone here to make sure he doesn't attempt to blow up the sitting room. –C_

_Just wait until I'm home alright? –JW_

_Good, you two can sort out whatever you were fighting about while I'm out. –C_

_Before you protest I'm letting you know it's non-negotiable. –C_

_Fine. –JW_

"Greg's coming over tonight then Sherlock. I'll go out and get some stuff for dinner once John gets home." Charlie told him from the kitchen. A short grunt was the only reply. She peeked back out into the living room. Sherlock was lying on the couch applying a nicotine patch to his arm.

"I don't mind if you just have a cigarette." Charlie told him, pulling a pack of menthol Camels from her purse and tossing them to him. He caught them and sat up, staring at her with a peculiar look on his face.

"You really don't mind?"

"Not at all. I've had to quit cause I'm pregnant, I don't mind if anyone else smokes. I miss the smell." She told him, grinning slightly. Sherlock shot her another quick glance before pulling out a cigarette and going in search of a lighter. He ended up using his Bunsen burner to light it, not wanting to have to ask Charlie for a light as well.

They sat in silence for about a few hours, Charlie curled up in John's chair with a book, Sherlock sitting on the couch and smoking absent-mindedly. All the windows were open and Sherlock was trying to blow the smoke in rings out into the cold London air. When John finally came back to the flat, he found Charlie lying on the floor in the living room with her feet propped up on the couch, watching some American drama on the television while Sherlock blew smoke rings around the flat. The whole place smelled of cigarette smoke and menthol with an undertone of acid from that morning.

"Glad to see you two are enjoying yourselves killing your lungs and possibly damaging my unborn child." John greeted them coldly. Charlie sat up a bit, glancing over at John.

"Oh good you're home." Charlie smiled at him and sat up further, she took a moment to stand up, slightly unbalanced due to her pregnancy.

"So have you and Sherlock been enjoying yourselves then?" John spat, anger spiking his tone.

"I haven't smoked at all since I found out I was pregnant alright? Sherlock was putting on one of those damn nicotine patches so I just gave him my pack of menthols okay?" Charlie replied, keeping her tone level.

"Oh yeah that's just _perfect _Charlie. He is not supposed to smoke! And you should know better. You knew to quit when you found out you were pregnant; you are well aware that second-hand smoke is just as bad, if not _worse _than smoking one yourself!" John continued, his voice rising to a shout. Sherlock finished his cigarette lazily, picking up the pack for another. He was slightly surprised to find it empty. He stood up, standing between Charlie and John. He faced John, looking down at the doctor with a somewhat angry glint in his eye. If John hadn't known better, he would have sworn that Sherlock was trying to protect Charlie. He shook his head, that couldn't be true. Could they have possibly formed a somewhat friendly bond while he was gone? Watching crap telly and smoking?

"John I apologize for smoking in the flat, however, you went down to the bar with Lestrade, I think I am entitled to a smoke don't you?" Sherlock asked him, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. John flinched slightly, knowing that Sherlock was still upset about their fight earlier, hell, he was still upset about that. Charlie edged out from behind Sherlock.

"Well you two can finish what you started this morning; I'm going to just run down to the store and get some stuff for dinner." She smiled nervously and grabbed her jacket and her purse, pulling on her shoes and slipping her phone into her pocket.

The door closed quietly and Sherlock and John stood in the middle of the room, glaring at each other with the remains of cigarette smoke hanging around them.

"About this morning," Sherlock began, hoping John would pick up and finish the sentence.

"I'm sorry about that Sherlock. I just don't really know what's going on right now, or what's going to happen from here. I don't know if Charlie and I are getting divorced, I don't know what's going to happen between us, I don't know anything." John apologized, his anger still tinting his tone, but definitely receding. Sherlock gave him a small smile and stepped towards him. He held John's face gently in his hands and leaned down, pressing his lips carefully to the doctor's. John was warm, soft, and tasted of beer. Sherlock chuckled in spite of himself as he pulled away, leaving a slightly bewildered doctor standing in front of him.

"Well I would hope that you can quickly come to a conclusion about what's going on between us because even I am getting a bit confused at this point John." Sherlock smirked and made to step around John into the kitchen, no doubt to try the morning's experiment again. John reached out and took hold of Sherlock's sleeve, pulling the detective to him. He pulled the taller man down to him, their lips clashing together with a desperate hunger. Sherlock tasted of Charlie's menthol cigarettes, and John decided that if the man was going to smoke, he couldn't smoke those anymore. The last thing he wanted was to taste his ex-wife when kissing his boyfriend. John made himself blush thinking about it, thinking that Charlie really would be his ex-wife and that perhaps Sherlock could actually become his boyfriend. They had certainly gotten off to a nice start. Sherlock moaned involuntarily as John sucked on his bottom lip and John smiled in spite of himself. He backed Sherlock against the nearest wall, letting go of his perfect mouth to lay kisses carefully along his neck, working his way slowly to his collarbone.

"John." Sherlock gasped out, his breath torn from him as John worked on creating a mark at the base of Sherlock's perfect neck.

"Hm?" John asked, moving up to Sherlock's lips again.

"It's about time you gave in." Sherlock teased, his face and eyes alight. John frowned and caught his teasing lips.

Charlie came back to the flat a half hour later to a concerned Mrs. Hudson waiting for her.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Charlie began. The woman grabbed her arm and pulled her into her flat.

"Dear, I think there's someone upstairs with John." She told her, concern etched into her kind face. Charlie stood for a moment, confused. When it dawned on her, she smiled politely and thanked Mrs. Hudson, picking up her grocery bags and heading upstairs. She opened the door carefully, peeking inside before walking in. The flat was conspicuously empty. She frowned and dragged her bags to the kitchen. She was almost finished unloading the groceries when she heard it. A loud moan drifting down the stairs. She stepped out into the stairway and climbed to her room curiously. She knocked loudly on the door. A moment later John appeared, his hair sticking up wildly and his lips swollen and red. His jumper was twisted and a large purple mark adorned his exposed neck.

"So, my bed seemed like your best option?" She asked calmly, working to keep her face free of emotion.

"We, we didn't-"

"Yeah save it John. Mrs. Hudson heard something. She practically pounced on me the minute I walked in. Told me she thought someone was in the flat with you. Looked pretty shocked too." Charlie informed him, reaching out and straightening his jumper.

"Yeah, sorry about that." John couldn't meet her eyes, feeling ashamed of himself, after all they were still married and he wasn't even sure if they were going to divorce.

"Quit worrying about me will you?" She asked him, seeming to read his mind. John stared at her for a moment, shocked.

"How did you? What-?" He stammered.

"Just don't okay? Now you two better straighten up, Greg should be over in an hour, he texted while I was out and we decided that an early dinner would be best." John's eyebrows rose at Charlie's command to 'straighten up'.

"Now when you say 'straighten up' you do just mean get dressed for dinner right?" John asked, trying to keep the juvenile smile from his face. Charlie let out a short, light laugh.

"Yeah John, I don't mean that you have to 'suppress the gay' naturally. Although I think we should only spring one massive surprise on Greg at a time don't you think?" She pulled him into a quick hug.

"Nice going by the way." She winked as she let go and hurried down the stairs. John shook his head and wandered back into the bedroom. Sherlock was spread out across the bed, lying about lazily.

"Did you-?"

"I heard it all of course. And she's right; you've landed quite a boyfriend John." Sherlock smirked at him, sitting up slowly and buttoning his shirt. The purple and red marks along his collarbone disappeared beneath the white fabric.

"Boy-boyfriend?" John asked, his face paling.

"Naturally. That's where this is going isn't it? Might as well go there now, there's no sense in waiting."

"I just wasn't sure- I mean, Charlie and I aren't divorced yet, and I didn't know if you-" Sherlock cut him off.

"John, never doubt me again. Please." Sherlock stood up and crossed the room to hold John's hands in his. "Please." John looked up into those cold blue and grey eyes. He nodded.

"Never again." He leaned up as Sherlock leaned down and they shared a short and careful, but none the less, loving kiss. John broke away with a grin.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"You just begged." John's smile grew wider as he talked. "You begged. Twice."

"Well, the situation demanded it." Sherlock tried to cover. John laughed and took his hand.

"Let's go get tidied up shall we?" John stepped out onto the landing, checking to be sure Mrs. Hudson wasn't around. When he saw it was clear he and Sherlock tiptoed down the stairs to their flat. They stopped short a few stairs up as a familiar voice drifted to meet them.

"I assure you my dear, I am an old friend of John's. The gun is not necessary."

"Mycroft." Sherlock whispered, his voice filled with suppressed anger.

"Gun? Good lord Charlie must've grabbed my gun when he showed up out of nowhere."

"Serves the fat twat right." Sherlock spat.

"Come on Sherlock, let's go stop my wife from shooting the British government."


	7. The Lasagna Dinner

Mycroft stood in the middle of the sitting room in his favorite beige suit. His black umbrella hung from one arm and the other was raised in what could be described as a friendly and neutral pose. Charlie stood in the kitchen, John's gun held steadily in her hands, trained on the heart of the British government.

"Who are you, and what the hell do you want?" She demanded angrily, her voice cracking.

"I told you already dear, I'm an old friend of John's. It's a shame we haven't met before, but we're meeting now, and I must say you seem to be a charming woman." Mycroft replied calmly. A noise on the stairs drew Charlie's attention as Sherlock and John stepped into the flat. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother.

"Mycroft."

"Sherlock." The older of the Holmes brothers lowered his hands and turned to Sherlock and John, ignoring Charlie for the moment. "And John." Mycroft added, his eyes slipping to the shorter man in the blue jumper.

"Can't say it's exactly good to see you Mycroft. What do you need from us?" John asked.

"Um hello? Who the hell is this?" Charlie demanded, keeping her gun trained on the man in the plain suit.

"He's my brother. You can put the gun down. He's no immediate danger, right now." Sherlock answered. Charlie set the gun down on the counter, still a bit confused.

"Your brother? So I'm guessing he knew you were alive this whole time then? How did he know you were here? Is he spying on us or something? Why is he here?" Charlie rattled off, finally releasing the questions that had been building up in her head throughout the exchange.

"All in good time my dear." Mycroft answered, sitting down in Sherlock's chair. Charlie, seeming to remember her job as the wife of a proper Englishman, jumped and turned to make tea. Sherlock sat opposite his brother in John's chair.

"You're having Lestrade over in a bit. Going to tell him you're alive." It wasn't a question.

"Yes. I need cases." Sherlock answered simply.

"I could have given you cases."

"Yes, but you couldn't have given me John." Sherlock replied, not bothering to mask his feelings for the man. John paled a bit from his space in the kitchen with Charlie, helping her prepare the tea. Charlie shot him a quick glance, then a small smile. John found himself returning it, as if the smile had been there all along, hiding under his grief and had finally decided it appropriate to break free.

"You're becoming a bit of a sentimental being dearest brother."

"You're growing colder. In three years you didn't think it wise to visit John? Not once? You just left him alone. That's a bit far, even for you." Sherlock shot back.

"Do I smell menthol cigarettes Sherlock? Been smoking have you? That's not good; we all know where that can lead." Mycroft changed the subject, upsetting his younger brother. Sherlock's face reddened, not in embarrassment, but in anger.

"That is behind me Mycroft. How's the diet?" He replied, trying to keep a calm face. Charlie nervously set the tea tray between the two, immersing herself in the horrible tension between them as she did so.

"Charlie dear how has my poor brother been treating you? Well I would hope, though I wouldn't count on it." Mycroft asked, picking up his tea.

"He's been fine." She answered anxiously, backing away from the brothers.

"I didn't miss the hole in the table, or the floor." Mycroft told her.

"No one expected you to." Sherlock informed him casually, managing to keep a good handle on his anger.

"Well," Mycroft set down his tea and stood up, turning to John and Charlie. "Take care of him will you?" They nodded and he turned to Sherlock. "Do go easy on Greg will you?"

"I wouldn't dream of doing anything else." Sherlock replied sarcastically. Mycroft rolled his eyes slowly and walked to the door.

"Good to meet you Charlie dear. Look forward to seeing you again." And he was gone. Sherlock spun angrily, storming about the flat and finally landing on the couch. He reached for a nicotine patch. A small white box flew through the air and landed next to him, Charlie having thrown it from the kitchen. A moment later a lighter landed next to it. Sherlock picked up the box.

"You got me cigarettes while you were out?" He asked, addressing Charlie.

"Thought you might want some. Didn't know your preference, so I just got you some Camels. Figured John wouldn't want you smoking the menthols like I do." John reddened and shuffled off to his computer as Charlie started making the lasagna for dinner. Sherlock smiled in appreciation and lit a cigarette, puffing angrily, small smoke clouds chasing each other through the flat and out the open window.

O.O

Downstairs the bell rang, and upstairs two sets of eyes shot to a tall man with curly black hair, smoking a cigarette on the couch. Sherlock glanced at John and Charlie.

"I should go shouldn't I?" He asked, reluctantly putting out his cigarette and standing up.

"Wait upstairs?" John suggested.

"Of course." Sherlock crept quietly up to Charlie's room and moments later Lestrade was standing in the sitting room.

"Someone been smoking in here?" He asked as way of greeting, smiling at the couple and pulling Charlie into a hug.

"It's been too long Greg." Charlie told him, smiling.

"It has." Greg gave her another quick hug and then looked at her in surprise. "Don't mean to be rude, but has John finally managed to get you pregnant Charlie?" He asked, his voice light and friendly. Charlie and John both laughed.

"Yeah, took him long enough huh? I'm about four months, we've been meaning to tell family and friends, but we seem to keep forgetting about it." Charlie supplied, taking his coat from him and hanging it up.

"Far too long." Lestrade replied jokingly, taking his seat next to John at the table. He stared at the hole the acid had burned in the middle of the table. "Been playing with fire have we?"

"Putting together an experiment for school, messed up somewhere. Won't be trying that again." Charlie replied, laughing. Greg smiled, turning to John as Charlie served the lasagna.

"I know you probably don't want me asking John, but we've got a case, and I was wondering if you might be able to help us out a bit? Just a few little things we can't get figured out, I know you probably don't want to, but-" He trailed off, embarrassed. Before John could reply a voice shouted down from the stairwell, far too close to have come from Charlie's room.

"Yes!" It shouted. Charlie and John turned to each other in panic.

"Who was that? That sounded like-"

Sherlock swept into the room, his face eager and hungry.

"Yes yes yes. Give us a case Lestrade I'm going crazy in here." All color drained from Lestrade's face as his expression morphed into one of complete surprise.

"Sh-Sherlock?" He stammered.

"Yes of course it's me, who else would it be? Oh yes I'm sure you're wondering, I am indeed alive, no I never did die I'm not some sort of supernatural apparition induced by your heavy drinking with John earlier today, and yes I am back. Now about that case, details?" He sat down in the empty seat next to the detective inspector. Lestrade just stared at him in shock, his mouth agape.

"I can't- it can't be true- this isn't right." He turned to John in bewilderment.

"It is him Greg. He showed up about two weeks ago. Just walked right into the flat; nearly scared Charlie to death." John assured him. Lestrade turned back to Sherlock and pulled him into a tight hug without a moment's hesitation.

"I can't believe it you brilliant madman." Sherlock hugged him back, looking completely uncomfortable with this turn of events, but deciding to humor him.

"The case?" He prompted, desperate for something to distract his mind.

"Of course, um, the case, yes." Lestrade seemed to think for a moment, obviously trying to process this new information as he leaned back in his chair. "Erm, yes, couple found in their apartment near the Eye, doors and windows bolted, no signs of forced entry, no DNA evidence left behind, no hint at a murder weapon, nothing to really go on. We checked for poison in their blood but it came back negative. They seem perfectly healthy aside from the fact that they're dead."

Sherlock's eyes lit up, like a child being told they were going out for ice cream.

"Brilliant! When can we get to the scene?"

"Tomorrow morning if you like. But no one else knows you're alive do they?"

"That was what we were rather hoping we could figure out tonight." John told him. "We wanted to tell you first and then figure out how to tell the rest of the Yarders from there."

"Well, that could be problematic. Honestly I think it would probably be best to go with the quick, painless approach."

"That being?" Charlie asked.

"Just spring him on them." Lestrade supplied. Sherlock clapped his hands together and jumped up.

"Excellent. My plan all along." He turned back to the table. "Do eat, you're here for dinner after all." He took a seat next to Lestrade and the four friends tucked into a silent, slightly uncomfortable lasagna dinner.

A/N: Thanks for reading again guys! I'm absolutely thrilled at the support I've been getting and am so excited that you guys seem to like it! Here's chapter seven, incredibly early, just because I can't seem to stop writing! It's a bit short compared to the other chapters, but I really wanted to get this encounter out and will be publishing the Yarder's reactions by next week. I hope you liked it, and as always feel free to drop me a PM or leave a review with any comments, concerns, ideas, or questions!


	8. The Cab Talk

Lestrade paced his office nervously, running shaking fingers through his hair as he awaited the arrival of the world's only consulting detective. He didn't have long to wait, moments later the door banged open and he strode in purposefully, John trailing slightly behind. Lestrade listened to the surprised and frightened voices of the Yarders as Sherlock and John approached his office. They entered without a word and sat down.

"I am confident that they will all now discuss this with each other and the whole of London will know of my false demise by tea time." Sherlock stated simply. John rolled his eyes and chanced a look through the glass to the offices of the Yarders. They seemed panicked, managing to keep a lid on it, barely though as John noticed, watching Donovan practically sprint for the office door. She let herself in and grabbed Sherlock by the collar of his jacket, unceremoniously pulling him from his chair and hitting him across the face.

"Whoa Sally!" Lestrade made to pull her off of Sherlock but John beat him to it.

"You bloody twat!" She shouted at Sherlock as John pulled her away from the detective. Sherlock looked shocked, holding a hand to his bleeding nose.

"Sally! Sally! I know it's a bit of a shock, but he's alive!" John tried to reason with her. She pulled away from him and made to hit Sherlock again. John jumped forward and pulled her back.

"John just let me at him! After what he did to you!" John couldn't help but let out a small laugh, appreciative of the concern she held.

"It's alright, he's been forgiven, okay?" Sally stopped fighting him and John slowly let go of her. She stood proudly in the office and glared at Sherlock, who had taken up a dignified stance near the coat rack, sporting a bleeding nose, yet again.

"Had to hit him in the nose did you? Honestly it was just healing." John muttered, crossing the room to take a look at the detective's nose.

"Healing? You clocked him too? So I'm not the only one." Donovan tried to justify her own actions.

"No, John didn't. His wife did, she's got a bit of an anger management issue." Sherlock told the room calmly.

"Charlie hit him? Tiny little Charlie?" Sally asked, her voice filled with undisguised glee.

"Well seeing as Charlie is John's wife and I did just tell you that his wife hit me; yes, Charlie did this."

"Smart ass, haven't changed at all."

"I could say the same of you." Donovan sent the detective a glare before turning to Lestrade.

"So how long have you known about this exactly?"

"Came round for dinner last night and he just shows up. Thought I was seeing things at first. I got over it rather quickly though thanks to Charlie and her perfect lasagna."

"John, how _is _Charlie taking this? I haven't seen her in weeks." Sally put John on the spot with her sudden change in conversation. The doctor looked around from where he had been examining the damage to Sherlock's face.

"She's doing okay. Irritable though, but that's probably because she's quit smoking."

"Finally listened to all those package warnings then?"

"She couldn't care less. No actually, we're expecting." John's chest puffed up a bit at the last declaration; despite the crumbling status of his marriage, he was proud to have a child on the way and excited to be a father. Sherlock's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. John was happy about that in a way Sherlock knew he never could be.

"Really? Congratulations then doctor. Moved on from Sherlock." She smiled, taking a seat in one of the chairs against the wall. Lestrade sat back down and motioned for John and Sherlock to take seats as well.

"So, the case then. Like I told you yesterday, no evidence, windows and doors bolted from the inside, perfectly healthy couple aside from the fact that they're dead. Shall we?" Sherlock jumped up from his chair and swept out the door. John trailed behind quickly, ignoring the gossip and frenzied whispers of the Yarders around them. Lestrade and Donovan followed, catching up in time to stop Sherlock from hailing a cab.

"We've got a car; we're meeting the forensics team down there. Bodies haven't been moved yet, lucky for you Sherlock."

"Yes." The consulting detective's voice was a slightly amused drawl. John shot him a look that reminded him to behave as they climbed into the back of the police car.

O.O

"Depressurized chamber."

"What?" Lestrade stared at the tall detective, a look of surprised disbelief on his face.

"A chamber used to test diving equipment and the like. It can be depressurized, they died of lack of oxygen because the oxygen in the chamber would be too thin to breathe but the obvious signs of suffocation are lacking. Oh very, very clever." He spun around to examine the husband, grinning like an excited child as his long coat swished elegantly around him. John tried not to stare, but Sherlock caught him anyway. He shot a slightly suggestive smirk at the doctor before turning back to the body. John fought to keep the blush from his face.

_This is a crime scene, pull yourself together._

"We need to find where they were killed exactly, you'd be looking for a research facility equipped with a pressure chamber that isn't used often. It would need to be rather large but understaffed, no one would notice the killer bringing in his victims then. Unusual that he chose to bring them back to their flat, probably a serial killer, he's done this before. Effective and thorough at keeping away any forensic evidence that may help you pinpoint him, smarter than most, but not smarter than me." Sherlock spun happily through the scene, his eyes darting about and picking up little clues that no one else could see.

"We'll be off now, there's an irritable, pregnant, high school teacher waiting at home for us to deal with. Should be such fun." Sherlock announced suddenly. He practically dragged John from the dead couple's flat and hailed a cab in an instant.

"What the hell was that about?" John demanded irritably, back pressed against the warm cab seat as London slipped by through the window.

"Case is as good as solved John, and Charlie won't be home for a few hours. We can make use of the time." John shot Sherlock a surprised, disbelieving glance. He couldn't be suggesting-?

"I am." Sherlock announced, answering John's silent question.

"Really? _You _are trying to get me in bed? And this is how you go about it?" The doctor couldn't keep the amusement from his tone and was treated to a long suffering glare from Sherlock.

"Yes. I didn't think you would reject my proposal John, based on the evidence of the past few weeks." The detective replied with a look of disdain and a snatch of hurt stealing into his tone.

"I never said I was rejecting the idea, it's just, this isn't really how normal people do this." John protested.

"Where exactly do you get the idea that this is anything resembling a _normal _relationship John? You're not gay, you're also still married and expecting a child, and we don't even know what to call this yet. I'd prefer to call you my partner if you wouldn't mind the term." Sherlock's voice was back to its straightforward, business-like baritone and John winced inwardly at the shift in tone.

"So that's how we're going to do this then? Sit in the back of a cab and define our relationship? Partners? Partners who aren't gay but are still gay together? That makes _no bloody sense!" _John was confused, more than confused, he was so utterly lost that he didn't even know where to begin to find his way back; and back to where exactly? Denial of his obvious attraction to Sherlock? No, never again, not only would both Sherlock and Charlie see through that in an instant, but he wanted this out in the open, whatever this was that he had with Sherlock, he wasn't letting it go again.

"Alright then John, here's the definition, seeing as you need one so badly. We are partners, and that is that. Partners, boyfriends, whatever you want to call it exactly, I don't care. Charlie is your ex-wife and you have a child from a previous marriage. You're bisexual and I'm gay. Happy?" John grinned widely, and quickly captured Sherlock against the cab door. Cold lips collided with cold lips, hot tongues and teasing teeth translating what couldn't be said in any spoken or written language. John grinned at the moan elicited from his partner. He was happy here with Sherlock, snogging in the back of the cab, and he would not give this up for the world.

A/N: I'm the absolute worst, holy shit I can't believe how long of a hiatus I took. I would sit here and apologize profusely but I know you don't want my excuses, so….. next chapter will be up within a month. I can promise that. Sorry loves for the wait.


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